


It's a Witcher's Life (with his bard)

by GonewithFantasy



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Annoying Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion Friendship, Jaskier watches Geralt sleep and is inspired to write a poem about him, Poetry, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:06:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26953330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GonewithFantasy/pseuds/GonewithFantasy
Summary: Geralt's tired, Jaskier isn't, they share a bed - and Jaskier composes a new piece of poetry.Never wrote any kind of poetry before, but suddenly felt the urge to. ^^ The story's just justification for posting the poem. xDAlso, I want to draw attention to the fact that Jaskier and Geralt sharing a bed is book canon :)(This story is also uploaded on my account on fanfiction.net)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	It's a Witcher's Life (with his bard)

**Author's Note:**

> The very talented fannishliss wrote my poem into a song and I still can't believe that she actually did this ❤️  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/29490120 Please leave her lots of kudos and comments, she deserves it!

The door opened and Geralt and Jaskier entered their room at the inn, which they had rented for the night.

A few hours ago the witcher had finished his latest contract. It had been about a wyvern, that apparently had deemed the area around the small village good hunting grounds. Only understandable, considering the domesticated cows and sheep made for much easier pray than wild deer or hares. But winter was close and the villagers couldn't risk the wyvern diminishing their stock, especially when it could hit their breeder animals.

So they had put up a contract on the notice board next the the large oak that marked the center of the village.  
Geralt, in need of coin and glad to find a straightforward job that didn't seem like it would bring any unwanted untanglements with it nor like it would turn out to contradict his morals half way through, had gladly taken the contract.  
He had payed the village elder a visit and settled on a price he was satisfied with - considering these villagers were short on coin themselves and struggling with crop failure and taxes, Geralt really couldn't complain.

The wyvern had turned out to be especially untiring and it had taken Geralt a long time of circling, darting forward and immediately drawing back to finally wear it out enough so he could deliver the blazing fast and deadly stab to the wyvern's heart. Not to mention the many times the wyvern had just decided to spread its wings and put many miles of rocky territory between itself and the witcher before Geralt could even get close enough for an attack, leaving him to track the beast that to the untrained eye resembled a dragon.  
Geralt, having seen his fair share of actual dragons, could never understand the comparison.

Dragons were intelligent, majestic creatures, and if Geralt had to bet, he'd say they have a soul. He would never slay a dragon. The wyvern on the other hand, even though not malicious in itself, had posed a threat to the villagers' lives, a feral animal, just like a wolf, only with a lot more hunger for the villagers' lifestock - and the villagers themselves. And soon it wouldn't have been just one wyvern, but a lot more. These things could have up to 15 eggs in one nest. Yes, the witcher was pleased with this contract and the outcome indeed.

After the hunt Geralt had cleaned his sword and sheathed it and then had gone to fetch Jaskier, who'd attended the only market there was in the small village. Geralt had known Jaskier to be at the place, as there wasn't really anything else to do for the bard during the day. He'd have even found him without following the lute music or looking for the trademark hat with the egret's feather, the market was so small.

Together they had made it to the village elder to collect Geralt's payment. The man, who probably was at least 80 years old (which would be an impressive age given the time and circumstances), had eyed the witcher with unconcealed disgust. But at least he hadn't tried to cheat Geralt out of coin and the majority of the coins handed to the witcher hadn't been clipped, Geralt always checked.

On their way back to the inn a small crowd had assembled to glare at the strangers (or more precisely Geralt) from a safe distance.

Suddenly a boy, maybe two years old, had ran out of a nearby shed, all caught up in a game of tag, followed by a young girl who'd looked like his older sister.  
The girl had seen the witcher and stopped dead in its tracks. The boy, however, had only realized at whose feet he was standing, when Geralt had had to stop walking in order not to stumble upon the child.

The boy had looked up at the witcher, had seen his magically altered eyes with their pinpoint pupils even as the sun was about to set, his long hair robbed of its pigments by the trial of grasses, his stony face that appeared so lacking in emotion. The boy's eyes had filled with fear and immediately they'd spilled tears. The crowd had hissed furiously. Suddenly a woman had stepped out of one of the houses, hysterically shouting the boy's name, not daring to get closer to the witcher.

"Come on, as if you don't have enough children, Nelda, you can lose one to the mutant," a man from the crowd had exclaimed. The woman had been close to fainting, as Jaskier had made himself known: "Calm yourselves, for God's sake, witchers don't eat children and Geralt here just risked his life and killed your beast, so that you get to survive another winter.", indignation had made the bard's rich voice pitch a note higher than usual.  
"Who knows what they do with the children they steal, I certainly don't want to find out," a voice, maybe the man's, maybe someone else's had muttered.  
Geralt had just stepped around the boy and continued his way, no word or expression revealing whether he'd even taken notice of the incident. But Jaskier had and his face had done nothing to conceal the hurt and anger.

He'd shot the villagers one last look and followed Geralt, knowing that any futher comment would have been a waste of breath.

As they entered the room, Geralt took his sword and leaned it against the wall, where the other one of steel already rested.  
Without further ado, he lay down on the single huge sack filled with straw. This time he had miraculously managed to avoid getting any monster fluids on his garments, safe for maybe a few tiny, already dried drops of blood.  
Geralt felt thoroughly spent, but in a satisfied way, in a way that he'd done his work and earned his rest. His potions had long worn off and he could feel their aftereffects. They always left him in a state of slightly cold sweat as his body fought through the poison. He was used to it and it didn't diminish the feeling of calm and peace.

With fluent movements, Jaskier hung his lute by the door, next to his hat. He took off his doublet, folded it and laid it down on the floor as there was nothing in the room except the sack of straw, and a few candles placed on the floor with dried wax.  
But the room was clean, safe for a few spider webs.  
Jaskier kicked off his saffian leather boots and, as they didn't immediately come off, instead of using his hands, just kept kicking. His kicking rhythm matched the tune of a song he'd heard at the market. He was still bouncing with energy and soon the first boot went flying all across the room, hitting the wall with a silent thud. Jaskier pulled of the second boot and, with a movement half walk half dance, went to retrieve the one that had made contact with the wall. His demeanor made him look very young, untouched by the troubles of life.

Geralt liked being around him. At this point though, the one thing he liked even better was getting some well-deserved sleep.  
Geralt was already half asleep when Jaskier nudged him to move over. Geralt complied.  
The straw rustled and Jaskier lay down on his back with his eyes set on the stone ceiling above them. His body felt relaxed but his mind was still having a thousand petty thoughts running through it...and a few more serious ones about the way the villagers had treated Geralt.

"Geralt?" The witcher drew a deep breath to signal he was listening. "The way people treat you...does it ever get to you?" "Used to it," the witcher murmured. "Yes, but does it truly not affect you?" Geralt made a sound somewhere between an annoyed huff and a satisfied sleepy groan. Jaskier realized that he wouldn't get a more detailed answer than that and his thoughts trailed off.  
The silence lasted, but Geralt knew his friend all too well. "Geralt? ...I just realized you know what casting magic signs feels like and I don't. ...so I wonder, what does it feel like?" Geralt couldn't suppress a chuckle, Jaskier's train of thought was just so wildly random.

"I imagine the energy builds up a pressure in your head and it feels good to send it out to hit its target," the bard rambled on. Then he fell silent for a moment and Geralt was on the verge of thinking the bard would actually pause for him to answer. But of course, he wasn't.

"Ah, Geralt, what does Axii feel like when you cast it? Like you're actually in the head of the person you're casting it on?" Short pause, but Geralt didn't even try to answer. "How does it feel like to be under the influence of Axii? Could you do that on me? - No, hold on, if you, for example, said 'piss your pants' would that work? That should be considered first. ... But would it also work with something like 'don't throw up' if I was really hungover?" "It would work with 'just shut up, you annoying creature'," Geralt threatened, but Jaskier could tell he wasn't really mad. And both of them knew fully well that Geralt would never follow through with his threat (well, Jaskier was at least 80 percent sure of it).  
Jaskier laughed and for once, the following silence lasted so long it got Geralt's hopes up.

"Geralt?" This time even the bard had to chuckle about his own annoyingness. "Don't you worry, just one last thing, then I promise to be nothing but silent for the rest of the night." That actually tugged at the witcher's hopes.  
"What?" "Please light the candles for me, I want to write a new piece of poetry, and I have no lighter."  
With his fingers forming the sign of Igni, the witcher granted Jaskier's wish in record speed, then turned to the wall, buried his head into the sack of straw as deep as possible and closed his eyes, hoping to finally get his much-needed sleep.

Jaskier got up to get his song book, eyes not yet fully accomodated to the twilight. He fell over his boots, making a loud noise but cheerfully exclaimed, "Don't worry, I'm fine, I'm fine...but with your cat eyes you could've really just told me..." "Ah, just one quick sign of Axii," Geralt muttered humorously to himself.  
Jaskier finally grabbed his song book and then reached for the lute. His fingers had merely touched the instrument, as he heard a sharp "No lute!" coming from the sack of straw. Jaskier twisted his lip in his best pout (which was totally wasted on Geralt who hadn't even turned his head. His witcher senses had told him what Jaskier was about to do, anyways).  
"But without my lute..." - "Fine, take the lute!" Geralt cut him off, the strengh to argue had left him about two hours ago...and he found the lute's music to be soothing anyways, not that he would ever tell Jaskier that.

Happily Jaskier made it back to the bed, and started to write his poem. He looked at the witcher beside him, who was probably already fast asleep: curled up in the blanket, hair ruffled and his forehead slightly sweaty from the potions wearing off. A few hours ago he had slain a beast that could kill any normal human in an instant, without getting so much as a scratch. Jaskier thought of the knot that formed in his gut every time Geralt went on a hunt - and every time it dissolved as soon as Geralt returned (mostly) safe and sound.  
He thought of the villagers that were so blinded by fear they weren't able to see Geralt's true character. He looked back at the witcher who seemed so utterly and completely at peace with himself and the world after this day.  
And it felt like the poem just wrote itself:

In fight a swift whirlwind of death  
Never let the beast catch its breath  
Risk your life in every battle  
As wind howls and the leaves rattle  
Walk your endless path all alone  
No-one and nowhere to call home

Tell me: What drives you on that path,  
A road paved with nothing but death?  
Followed by the wild hunt as muse  
Can't say it's the life I would choose.

You do your job, collect your gain  
But gratefulness you'd seek in vain:  
They look at you, your eyes, your hair  
Then soon flinch back and spit at you  
Unfazed by them you just pull through  
I tell you though: It's just not fair!

It takes a monster to kill one, so you insist  
But I see them and I see you  
And just can't help but disagree, 'cause here's the twist:  
You act on morals, hold them true

You're no blunt weapon, no mere tool  
Instead protect the innocent,  
Whoever tells it different  
I call them out: "You dimwit, fool!"

Tell me: What drives you on that path,  
A road paved with nothing but death?  
Chased by the wild hunt as cruel muse  
Can't say it's the path I would choose

I wanna ask you, wanna beg:  
Rest your mission, get that nap  
Come journey with me to the sea _*if recited on stage, at this point Jaskier would imagine a little sigh*_  
know better than to voice that plea

There's others who can do your work,  
Who slay the beasts that in shades lurk.  
Take on a task less dangerous,  
Would save us both a lot of stress.

Yet your bard knows you, don't think wrong,  
Knows he can't sway you just with song  
It's who you are, your heart, your core.  
You never waver, never flinch,  
Against all odds you give no inch -  
In secret that's what I adore.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know, what you think :) (Sorry for any errors, English is not my first language.)


End file.
